The cop turned his back, just in time to miss the initial blast from the second floor of the yeshiva. It was followed by an even stronger explosion. Glass rained down, the air heavy with the smell of smoke and fire and panicked screams. Decker pushed Rina’s head deep in his chest and shielded his own eyes from the glass. When he looked up, he saw flames licking the sashes of the blown-out windows. Rina was shaking in his arms, sobbing against his chest. Decker looked at the hundreds of black-garbed boys. The children were hugging each other and crying. The rabbis were embracing the Torahs and weeping as well. Moti Bernstein had frozen in panic, tears running down his cheeks. Decker blinked. His own eyes felt as dry as dust.

The cop stared at Decker open-mouthed, his dangling cigarette falling from his lips and onto the ground. In a soft but firm voice, he said, “Who are you?”

Decker’s eyes were on Gil Yalom. “See that boy over there sitting under the olive tree?”

The cop nodded.

“I came here to look for him. His name is Gil Yalom.” Decker pointed to the scorched building. “I’m looking for his brother, Dov, as well. Rina, can you give this guy a quick rundown for me.”

Rina spoke rapidly. The cop answered her back in equally rapid Hebrew. They spoke for a few minutes. Then the cop crooked a finger in Gil’s direction. Slowly, the boy got up, his face a mask of terror.

The cop said, “We need to talk—all of us.”

Decker said, “I’m ready.”

33

In the brief car ride over to the police station at French Hill, Rina, placed in the front seat, had learned that the cop was a mefakeah—an inspector. His name was Ezra Elhiani; he was thirty-four and a former colonel in the Israeli army. His division had been tanks. Elhiani wore dark slacks and an open-necked white shirt. He smoked like a chimney, sucking his cigarettes down to the butt. The smell was so thick, it was nauseating. Unfortunately for Decker, it was also inviting.

Four years and, like a zombie, the cursed craving refused to die.

Knees to his chest, Decker was pressed into the backseat, next to Gil Yalom. He tried to make some headway, the first question being, where was his brother, Dov? But no matter how much he stressed urgency, Gil sat motionless and mute. Decker knew Gil’s behavior was a product of shock so he eased up. But his mind kept going, bursting with images.